


The Boyfriend Fallacy

by japansace



Series: The Boyfriend Series [2]
Category: Yuri!!! on Ice (Anime)
Genre: Canon Universe, Fluff, Language shenanigans, M/M, Misunderstandings, The Summer of Mutual Pining, btw you don't have to read the first part for context i promise, in the fun way, whoops Victor knows more Japanese than he's letting on
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-11-09
Updated: 2018-11-09
Packaged: 2019-08-21 05:50:21
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,946
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16570847
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/japansace/pseuds/japansace
Summary: Upon arriving in Japan, Victor learns two things within a very short amount of time:1. The people of Hasetsu are completely convinced he is Yuuri’s boyfriend.2. The people of Hasetsu seem to be under the impression that he does not, in fact, understand a word of Japanese.Victor does not correct them oneitherof these fronts. It’s far too entertaining to even consider doing such a thing.And sometimes these two factors converge in extremely intriguing ways.(Or: In which Victor gets a littletoogood at playing the part of Yuuri’s foreigner boyfriend.)





	The Boyfriend Fallacy

**Author's Note:**

> This was my piece for YOI Litmag issue two! If it wasn't for them accepting me, you might have never gotten this quasi-sequel to The Boyfriend Paradox, so idk, thank them? Anyway, enjoy~

Upon arriving in Japan, Victor learns two things within a very short amount of time:

1\. The people of Hasetsu are completely convinced he is Yuuri’s boyfriend.

2\. The people of Hasetsu seem to be under the impression that he does not, in fact, understand a word of Japanese.

Victor does not correct them on _either_ of these fronts. It’s far too entertaining to even consider doing such a thing.

And sometimes these two factors converge in extremely intriguing ways.

“Ah, it’s Yuuri-kun and his foreign boyfriend!”

That’s one of the easiest words to pick out: Boyfriend. Boifurendo. Doesn’t exactly take a rocket scientist to figure out that one. And even through the shopkeeper’s thick Kyushu accent, the intent is clear as day.

At this, the tips of Yuuri’s ears go predictably red. “He’s not my boyfriend, jii-san.”

The old man looks at him, then Victor, then Yuuri again in a new light, the incredulity pulling at his eyebrows. “Really, Yuuri-kun? Engaged already? Well, I can hardly say I blame you.”

“ _Jii-san—_!”

(But he offers no further opposition.)

If Victor Nikiforov was any other person, he’d claim this is what it felt like to be a celebrity. But no, this is no mere infamy; the price of fame had already compounded upon his person, making him simple and marketable, watering him down and down until he’d nearly drowned in praise and recognition. No, this was something else entirely—an adoration, a respect.

A love. 

Sure, people still pet his hair here and marvel at his eyes and gape at his fluid motions, but it’s with so much more _reverence_. In Hasetsu, he isn’t a pretty thing amongst other pretty things; he’s “that eccentric foreigner that follows Yuuri-kun around,” and he’s loving every minute of it.

(Even when people deeply underestimate his ability to pick up a language.)

“Hey, Yuuri, go show your idol to the dinner table.”

Idol. Aidoru. Another borrow word that doesn’t leave much to translate. But Mari must be counting on that accent—or on the speed in which she delivers her message—to make up for the subject matter.

Yuuri must too, seeing as he turns a little pink in the face but doesn’t halt or even slow his movements as he continues to set out plates. “Yes, Nee-chan.”

And yeah, it’s probably rude not to tell them that Victor understands at least some of what they’re saying—and is only getting better and better at doing so, with time—but he thinks he can be a little selfish, given the circumstances.

Or at least selfish for just a little longer.

Yet, it seems as though he’s always being put to the test, always a mere careless word away from giving away his secret. It’s in his morning greetings, getting smoother, less stilted the more, the louder he calls them from across the Hasetsuan street. He gives off tells in the sweets—the suika, the manju, the mochi—when an enthused “oishii!” threatens to leave his lips rather than a “vkusno.” When he sees the ocean now—gleaming, glittering in the islandic humidity—he thinks, “umi,” because that’s what the schoolchildren shriek, losing their sandals as they run across the sand to it.

It’s all at once frightening and exhilarating: how he can’t find it in himself to mind one bit. 

Because of this, he finds there’s little point in hiding it, in the end.

Still, Victor maintains that these things need to be revealed _delicately_ ; he can’t have Yuuri running away from him again—not when he’s finally pinned him, held him to a promise so soft and fragile that an ocean breeze was liable to fling it far across the sea if Victor wasn’t careful enough.

So he will be. Careful, that is.

When the time is right.

* * *

 

The average time for a successfully executed quad is 0.58 seconds.

From the lift—assuming their skates are properly positioned first, of course—to the near weightlessness, to the turn, turn, turn, _turn,_ to the crack upon the ice, to the follow through, to the not falling, the not falling, the _not falling_ —

Essentially, it is less than a second in which Yuuri Katsuki has to perform a small miracle.

“ _Yuu_ ri, you’re not doing it right.”

Ah. How astute of his coach. 

“And where exactly,” Yuuri pants, “am I not doing it right?”

“Mm,” Victor considers. He skates to Yuuri’s stooped form—from where he has his hands on his knees—and points: first at Yuuri’s stomach, then his thighs, then his feet. “Here, here, and here,” he says, aptly.

Yuuri suppresses the urge to groan. “I don’t know what that _means_.”

“It’s your spins,” Victor tells him. “They’re… You’re not… Hn.” He runs out of English. Thwarted, he resorts to a more physical approach, tucking Yuuri’s arms tight around him. “Like this. And then you—“ He demonstrates, faking a jump in the appropriate pose. “With more speed! Get it?”

Yuuri looks down at where his arms have been placed, then compares it to how Victor’s are, blinking wide-eyed and vacant. “It seems the same to me." 

“It’s the same _now._ But when you spin, it’s not—“

Victor’s brow pinches with frustration as Yuuri unfolds himself, leans down to adjust a skate. If he could just—if he could _only_ —

But he can, can’t he?

“Yuuri no supin wa… chigaimasu?”

When only silence meets him—Yuuri having not lifted his head to acknowledge him—Victor can’t tell if it’s in reaction to his terrible pronunciation or to how he’s likely butchering the language to hell and back or just in stunned acknowledgement that it turns out Victor knows any Japanese at all. He imagines it might be a little of all three.

Somehow, he persists: “Yuuri no ji—jiten… sha? Yuuri no jitensha…?”

He expects abject horror. What he doesn’t anticipate is laughter, Yuuri being pulled to the ground with it, slapping a gloved hand against the ice like he just can’t take it. “A-ah, Victor—!” he tries, looking up with tears in his eyes. “I—I don’t mean to laugh at you. Just—just what exactly about my bicycle is concerning you?”

 _Oh._ Jintensha: noun, a bicycle.

“That’s not what I—!” Victor sputters. “Your _spins. Rotations._ I was talking about your rotations!”

“I _know_!” Yuuri’s legs give out, at which point he’s practically lying across the ice. “I know, but _your face_ —“

Victor imagines his face could be quite funny indeed, considering the pout he’s now sporting. “Yuuuuu _ri_ —“

“You were trying _so hard_ —“

“So there’s no pity for me?”

“—and to _lecture me_ —“

“I’m doing my best!”

“Yeah…” Yuuri looks up at him then, a smile there brighter than all the stars in the sky. “Yeah, you’re doing wonderful, Victor. I really appreciate that you tried.”

“So you’re not—“ Victor glances away, abashed. “It doesn’t bother you that I picked up some Japanese?”

“What? No, of course not.” Yuuri rises, pulling at the creases of his track pants. “In fact, I think it’s very flattering." 

That’s making Victor blush. That should _not_ be making Victor blush. “I see…”

Yuuri actually _smirks._ “So then, oh great purveyor of language—“ He lets his limbs go lax and mutable, loosely in the starting position of his free skate. “If you’re such an expert, teach me in the way of the Japanese.”

Victor can’t help a chuckle. “Rather than that,” he says, folding Yuuri’s arms once more—where he wanted them—only to unravel them, lead Yuuri into a spin, “I think I’ll explain in a language we’re both fluent in." 

No doubt “English?” lays heavily on Yuuri’s tongue, but he swallows it as Victor pulls him along, lithe fingers pressing against the inside of his wrist, leading one arm down into a faux-bow—just a tease, a mere suggestion—before propelling it upwards, Yuuri’s fingers curving innately as though to caress a lover’s cheek.

“So you know this one,” Victor remarks, and Yuuri thinks he does, though he can’t quite place it, with Victor’s breath on his ear.

Victor leads Yuuri’s other hand forward, holding it out in a wide arc, and Yuuri goes willingly. They move then—across the ice—and the dual scraping of their blades startles Yuuri, made hyperaware all at once of their corporeal forms, of how they’re leaving their touch upon the ice, however ephemeral.

Victor sweeps them in a half-circle, raising an arm again at the precipice before dropping to one knee. Yuuri is there nearly before Victor, his body having caught on ahead of his mind, muscle memory taking over, guiding him into the kneel—and then the ascent, their arms raising together, not an inch apart but with such grace and surety that their wrists avoid knocking together, only just.

“Victor… We’re doing—“

“Stammi Vicino, I know.”

They separate then—but only to allot proper distance, Yuuri following Victor, Victor following Yuuri, the lines between light and answering shadow becoming thin and nebulous.

Two skaters pick up speed for the flip, a hand steady before them as though to press down against the air, offer them a better lift. They leap—and land. Four rotations in all, nary a wobble on the descent.

“Yuuri!”

He stumbles at this—being shocked out of a continuation of the routine—but Victor is there, with two hands wrapped around Yuuri’s middle to lift him from behind. Yuuri yelps—flails a little—and ends up half-falling, Victor being the only thing keeping him from a complete tumble with a hand to the small of his back.

“I knew you could do it,” Victor says, still gliding with Yuuri in his hold. It’s half praise, half “I told you so.” “You know how to do it if it’s me.”

Yuuri blinks from below him. “Huh?”

Victor guides him up. “The quad flip. When you don’t think too hard about it… when you’re mimicking rather than making it up on your own, it comes naturally to you.”

“Oh.” Yuuri flushes at this, eyes skittering to where Victor’s fingers are still intertwined with his own. “I guess you’re right.” He glances up—then right back down again. “I skate best when only you are on my mind. When only you are in my heart.” 

Victor feels as though his own might burst right then and there. “We should do this again,” he says in lieu of a proper response, thumbing along Yuuri’s pulse point. “Skating together. I quite liked it." 

Yuuri looks at him then. “Stammi Vicino?”

“Anything.”

“I’m good at Stammi Vicino.”

“I think you’ll find you’re good at most things, Yuuri.”

Yuuri only shakes his head, as though this is the most ridiculous thing he’s ever heard. “But—“ He grips Victor in his hold. “We should do Stammi Vicino. Again. _Together_.”

“Right now—?”

“No.” Yuuri bites into his lip. “For the exhibition skate. If I make it that far…” When he blinks, Victor swears he sees his whole future, sparkling in the depths of those eyes. “Wouldn’t you like that? Surprising everyone? They wouldn’t expect you to join me.”

Victor pulls Yuuri’s hand to his chest. “I love that! A pair skate for the exhibition! I have to call my composer—and choreograph it again, as a duet!”

“You don’t mind—?" 

“Absolutely not! _Zenzen_!”

This startles a giggle out of Yuuri. “Okay, Victor-san,” he teases, poking at Victor’s forehead. “Then… yoroshiku, ne?” 

It’s one of those nearly untranslatable phrases—distinct, allowed to be interpreted in a myriad of ways—but at that moment, Victor feels the meaning in his very soul. He takes it like a vow, and his answer is a benediction: “Hai. Forever, if you want.”

**Author's Note:**

> Translation Guide:
> 
> “boifurendo” = “boyfriend”  
> aidoru = “idol”  
> “suika,” “manju,” “mochi” = Japanese sweets  
> “oishii!” = “delicious!”  
> “umi” = “ocean”  
> “Yuuri no supin wa… chigaimasu?” = “Yuuri’s spins are… wrong?”  
> “Yuuri no ji—jiten… sha? Yuuri no jitensha…?” = “Yuuri’s… bi… cycle? Yuuri’s bicycle?”  
> “zenzen” = “not at all”  
> “yoroshiku, ne?” = “take care of me, okay?”  
> “hai” = “yes”
> 
> And yes, “jiten” = “rotations”; “jitensha” = “bicycle”


End file.
